Flint Lock (Witches of Karma #10) by Elizabeth A. Reeves Page B

opened a door back into that world. Perhaps, when I stopped to help the stranger in the middle of the street. There could be no other explanation for the changes that were barging into my life, one after another, with no regard to my personal preferences.
    What would have happened, if I hadn’t passed at that very moment? What if I hadn’t stayed to make sure the mare I’d been treating was progressing well? What if I had just left him there? What if I had followed my first impulse, and called 911 and left Flint to the hands of professionals?
    And what, really, brought Flint almost to my doorway, right there where I would find him, in his darkest hour?
    How long had we both been walking down this path?
    Doors, I’d discovered long ago, were much harder to close than to open up. They were like Pandora’s Box. Doors were portals between worlds, between lives.
    I could see Flint being my own personal Pandora’s Box—a tempting package containing mysteries, and definitely containing some horrors along the way.
    Yet, I couldn’t seem to just walk away. There was a fascination there that I could not deny. It was like staring at the sun. Even if he left my life again, I knew I’d see the imprint of him there, behind my eyes, for the rest of my life.
    “’If a stranger knocks on your door, it is wise to offer him bread and salt. Once he has eaten these, he will be your kindred’,” I read from the book. I leaned back, wrinkling my nose as the motion brought me back into contact with a cobweb. I didn’t mind spiders, but cobwebs gave me the heebie-jeebies. “Oh, I guess that’s what I did wrong. All I gave Flint was toast and bacon.”

Chapter Seven

    FLINT
     
    I awoke to daylight streaming through a large picture window, heating the skin of my back. My head throbbed as I tried to move. My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with wool.
    I groaned.
    How much had I had to drink last night? I couldn’t even remember.
    The linoleum was cold under my face and my belly. I was lying in the middle of the floor.
    I looked down. Of course, naturally, I would be naked.
    I heard a delicate cough from the doorway.
    I turned my head to see Win’s bemused face. Despite the expression, she looked terrible. I was distracted from the curve of her lips, by the dark bruises that marred her face, neck, arms… pretty much everywhere that wasn’t covered by her clothing. I wondered how many more bruises were hidden beneath that covering.
    I felt the dried husk that was all that was left of my heart sink into my belly. Had I done that to her? I must have.
    Any jury in the country would convict me for attempted murder, if they saw her.
    “While I’m glad to see that you are yourself again this morning,” Win said, her voice light and teasing, in stark contrast to her battered features, “I don’t think that sleeping naked… on my kitchen floor, may I add, is healthy this time of year. It’s still cold in the mornings, you know.”
    I did know. I wanted to curl into a ball. I wanted to run away. Mostly, I just wanted to disappear and pretend that she hadn’t seen me like this.
    I definitely didn’t want her seeing more of me. Well, at least not this way. There were better moments for nudity.
    I wondered where that last thought had come from. Maybe I’d hit my head a few times, while under the influence of the demonic.
    I tasted bile. How could she stand there and talk to me after what I had done to her? How could she just make jokes and act like everything was fine?
    “You couldn’t look away?” I grunted, as I staggered to my feet. I grabbed the closest covering I could find—a tea-towel hanging by the sink—and used it to preserve what was left of my modesty.
    “I could,” Win agreed. “I just like watching you turn red. I’ve never seen a big guy like you blush like that.”
    I narrowed my eyes at her, suspecting her word choice had been deliberate. Her expression was all-too sweet and guileless to be real.
    “Any